


Laid Out in Lavender

by sarai377



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Risen King Chrom (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 20:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19952182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: After defeating Chrom and his Shepherds at the Dragon's Table, Grima is forced to keep Robin's promises.mChrobin, Grima!Robin, Risen King ChromFor the #Chrobinweek2019 prompt, Promise





	Laid Out in Lavender

lay (one) out in lavender

  1. _obsolete_ To prepare a dead body to be buried. From the former practice of strewing lavender petals over and around a body to mask its decomposing scent.
  2. _obsolete_ By extension, to kill someone. 



* * *

_I promised Chrom forever._

Grima kneels in the darkness. There is dirt and blood under his fingernails, coated with the sound of screaming, slick in the back of his mind. Lightning and magic and power rise through his new vessel. It has been centuries since he was so contained, since he had edges and skin and emotions. This vessel is malleable… aligned with his needs. His blood rings true in mortal veins, bred for centuries to this specimen, a pure prince of an unbroken line of kings… Nearly perfect. 

“Stop screaming,” he hisses, the words cotton on his new tongue. 

The soul within his body is not going as quietly as he’d hoped. Yes, he had gone dormant, shocked when Grima first stole his body from around him, first gathered up immortal power in his hands and thrust a jagged knife of pure lightning into the Ylissean prince. The soul had been quiet, trembling with the pain of it, a deep thrumming ache that even now, no amount of Grima’s magic can touch or heal. It is not this body that aches, but the spirit within. 

And as that spirit aches, so does Grima, intricately bound together. 

“Enough, enough! I have won,” he says, tightening his slender long fingers into fists. “I’ve won, you can stop begging for mercy!” 

_I promised Chrom_ … 

“Chrom is dead,” he snaps. The words echo within and without. The soul hesitates, falters. For a precious moment, there is silence. But his chest hurts even _more_ , as if by quieting this voice - this grief - it has turned inward, festering at the place where god and mortal are tethered. 

He can still smell lavender, even though the body is buried under deep loam. Some whimsy or memory had driven him to collect the wild stems as he dragged the body to its final resting place. It had been the smell of those sweet flowers that had awoken the soul to mounting horror. 

Then the screaming had started, and had not stopped, through the digging and dirt and the indignity of it. 

Grima's vessel is tired, even after the feast at the Dragon's Table, and this will not do. He snaps his magic-scarred fingers and forces energy into his muscles, stilling the vibrating tension and easing the aches. 

The spirit screams on, and on, and on, until Grima thinks he could go mad with it. 

"Enough!" he finally cries, clamping hands to his ears. His Risen watch, impassively, as he frets over what will quiet the spirit. 

There was a second body in the room - his vessel's father, a cruel man who had been willing to sacrifice his child to his god. He offers to bury that body, too, but the spirit screams more. 

And then he gets it - his vessel’s soul doesn't want to leave the gravesite. To leave the prince’s side.

It is as Grima thought, then. The Ylissean prince meant something to him. 

_Not just something_ , his vessel says, fury mounting - finally, an emotion Grima understands. _Everything_. 

Grima lets his curiosity get the better of him, sensing the meaning behind the words, shaped as claws meant to rip through him. He lets the spirit draw him in, relieved that the screaming has stopped. 

* * *

_A warm summer breeze whispers through the massive willow they stand beneath. Wisteria blooms nearby, and the air brings the scent of cherry blossom and lavender. He - Robin, the vessel - smiles in wonder at this place. It is their secret, shared place._

_Robin stands with the Ylissean prince._

_Chrom’s blue eyes stare up into him from his knees: hopeful, fearful, and more than a little watery. He holds a ring between them. “When this war is done, Robin… would you do me the honor of being my husband?”_

_Robin doesn’t speak, but the emotion is bright, brighter than the sun. He holds a trembling hand out toward Chrom, and the prince slips the ring onto his finger._

_The ring is too large, twisting freely. They both laugh as Robin presses it back into Chrom's hand. The kneeling prince’s laugh is tinged with desperation, but Robin's is a soft tinkle of finely crafted bells._

_Robin takes the prince’s cheeks between his hands, and the touch is unexpectedly warm. "I will gladly marry you… once this war is over. Keep the ring, get it resized. I will marry you, Chrom, and stay with you forever. That's a promise I mean to keep."_

* * *

Chrom smiles so bright it pierces to Grima's core. He remembers those blue eyes, unseeing, as he dumped dirt over them. It makes Grima hurt and hurt, needs to lash out at the source of this pain, but it is himself, and the spirit, and what hangs between them - his vessel loved Chrom, and Grima stole him away. 

The wailing starts again. Grima steps away from the mound of freshly-turned earth, lip curled. Perhaps, distance-- 

_Don’t leave him, don’t leave!_ The vessel stops Grima’s feet, weights them down, keeps them from moving. His voice aches within the body. 

Grima could squash him like a bug. The wraith of his former self, the once-proud prince of Plegia has been reduced to begging. It would be easy to destroy him utterly. 

_Please don’t leave him_ , the spirit begs. 

“You could stay with him, you know.” Grima’s voice is husky, as if something is clogging his throat. He turns back to regard the mound, sensing the body within, the strings of soul still clinging to it. Lavender clogs up his nose. “You could leave this body to me… and go join him.” 

He feels the vessel’s soul contemplate this. He stretches away, further from the body, seeking out the soul of the one he loves. 

“If you go… you won’t have to be part of this. You can keep your promise.” Emotions are complicated, and Grima has been singular in his purpose for centuries - return, conquer, _eliminate_. This strange compassion - the darkling sadness - should be beyond him, but his vessel’s influence is already apparent. 

The spirit thinks about his offer. The silence rings as the screaming did. _But… Lucina… the Shepherds… You’ll kill all of them, won’t you?_

“You know the answer.” They share memories now, share thoughts. Robin knows what Grima has in store for the rest. 

The spirit steels himself, strengthens the places where he connects, both to the body and to Grima. _I have to stay. We made other promises, before this… Promises to see this to whatever end we could._

Grima feels his resolve, can practically taste the bitter tear-stained edges of the soul. He could remove him, but it might take more energy than he has to spare, at the moment. 

There’s always later, once he’s gotten things under control. 

A solution darts through his mind, and he grins, a gesture which makes his whole body light up. He’s missed _this_ , the way emotions make his body feel good. A way to keep the vessel’s soul complacent, complicit, calm. 

_No_ , the vessel whispers, but there’s also hope. _You can’t do that…_

Grima turns, wreathed in lavender. It would take much less energy than ousting the soul, right now, just a little spark… and then he will have a captain, someone the Risen will listen to in his stead. Someone he can trust utterly. 

_Not like this…_ _Please..._

But the spirit cannot stop Grima. 

He reaches out and snares the lingering wisps around the body. Not enough for a whole soul, not enough for an existence like Robin’s, but enough. Grima closes a fist around the strands and pulls. They taste good, and Grima savors the way they feel in his mind for a moment, before deciding he won’t eat them. He needs to find a way for this remnant to find peace, even if it is a lie. 

The spirit shoves at Grima, a metaphysical push that might have knocked Grima out at the beginning, but it is nowhere near enough now. Robin beats his essence against Grima like throwing himself repeatedly off a cliff at the water’s edge. 

Grima continues to weave, and feels the glorious moment when the body beneath the mound _catches_ , like tinder catching fire. 

_No_ , the spirit moans, clinging to Grima, spent. 

“I’m keeping your promise,” Grima says, and it comes out lilting, mocking. “Together, forever. Isn’t that right, Chrom?” 

The body stands, magically free of dirt and debris. It kneels - slowly - before Grima, and looks up. 

There is something glowing bright from within his blue eyes, turning them scarlet, the animating force and the pieces of soul, lashed into this body. 

_What have you done?_ Robin wails, but when the fallen prince moves a hand up toward Grima, it is Robin that reaches out and takes it. The flesh of his hand is cool beneath Grima’s, but the spirit doesn’t notice. He clings to it for a long, drawn out moment, smelling lavender. 

“Ro...bin,” Chrom says, his voice rough, as if he needs to cough. But he doesn’t need breath to survive. His only animus is Grima’s will. “Forever.” 

Grima turns his face up to the darkened sky, and grins. 

“Rise, my faithful servant,” Grima says. “We have work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! (Y'all know this is maybe my FAVORITE kind of story to write, painful and so deliciously angsty it makes me ache inside...) I'm trying out a new style of scene separators, please let me know if you like them! 
> 
> So much love to Terra for collabbing with me on this project... I've been melting for days seeing that beautiful artwork of the proposal scene! If you want to view the images on Twitter, please see this link: https://twitter.com/SaraiWrites/status/1154060445130600453
> 
> I imagined that Chrom kept the ring on him, and has indeed gotten it resized - he was probably planning on giving it to Robin soon after the Dragon's Table. I couldn't find a good way/reason for him to bring it out, but it is still there. 
> 
> Thank you to Kristin for the title, which definitely helped me form the way this story headed... she didn't know what I was planning when she mentioned it and I snatched it up. (If you're reading this, I'm sorry Kristin)


End file.
